(1)
Tomorrow –
The war will finish,
But-
The trees have disappeard,
Just as –
The birds have vanished,
And the buffalos,
And many, many ….
Of the black eyes,
The war will finish morrow.
And we rummage,
With out benefit,
About one –
In order to enumerate,
The sanguinary days.
((2
This woman is a hard white,
Is satiated with the bad,
Every morning –
Wakes up,
To inspect the towels –
On the clothes sline,
She is lonely-
Prepares her white coffee,
And as an intended fighter,
She puts her tunic –
On her shoulder,
And she departs.
In the next early morn,
She puts the towels in a washing machine,
And with the little of wine,
She is going –
With her ordinary lethargy.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem